


The Universe Outside of You

by Tu_Er_Shen



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Achilles - Freeform, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Angst, Blowjobs, Fluff and Smut, Insomnia, Letters, Loneliness, Love Letters, M/M, Oral Sex, Patroclus - Freeform, Porn With Plot, Sexy Stuff Comes Later, patrochilles - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2018-11-06 04:16:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11028456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tu_Er_Shen/pseuds/Tu_Er_Shen
Summary: Every summer, Patroclus flies to Texas to work at a summer camp for troubled boys, boys who would end up in jail--or worse--without constructive intervention. Every summer, Patroclus says goodbye to Achilles in the airport and starts counting the days until they'll see each other again. Every summer, Achilles waits 92 days to see his lover again. It's definitely worth the wait.





	1. 92 Days - Airports and Other Torture

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Achilles,” Patroclus sighed, but he couldn’t help but keep a smile off his face. Achilles was insufferable. He might have looked like a carefree surfer, and there was certainly a part of him that was, but despite all appearances Achilles cared a lot more than he let on.

“What?” the blonde snapped spunkily, cocking his head and crossing his arms defensively.

Patroclus looked up from the piles of clothing strewn across their shared bed and the old burgundy suitcases he was packing. “You ask me this every year, and every year I tell you the same thing.” And he was right of course, every spring Patroclus started packing to go to Texas where he worked as a summer counselor for a sleep away camp for troubled boys, boys who would otherwise find themselves in jail—or worse—if not for constructive intervention, and every year Achilles complained. 

Now it was Achilles’s turn to sigh as he slumped down on top of the piles of clothes, causing Patroclus to wince as his boyfriend undid hours of careful folding efforts. “I know,” Achilles moped, slinging his forearm across his face, partially feigning distress. “But…do you really want to?” he asked, sounding hopeful, peeking out from under his arm.  
Patroclus removed Achilles’s arm, pulling him upright. Achilles followed his momentum, smiling enthusiastically as their faces came to be merely inches apart. A spattering of freckles across his tanned skin made him appear peppered with flecks of sand.

“Of course I don’t want to leave you, Achilles.” 

Achilles bit his tongue between his teeth, making a cheeky grin at Patroclus.

“However, this job counts as internship credit towards graduation, and you know how much I enjoy helping the boys every year,” Patroclus patiently explained, just like he did every year. “Besides, it’s only a few months and then I’ll be back. And you can write me whenever you want and even call me once in a while, you know that.”

Patroclus tucked a stray wave of Achilles’s sun-bleached hair behind his ear, trailing the pad of his thumb across his cheekbone. That didn’t wipe the look of disappointment from Achilles face, but Patroclus knew that he would get over it eventually—he always did. Patroclus leaned in a placed a gentle kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead before resting his chin on top of Achilles head and pulling him into a warm hug.

Achilles lifted up the back of Patroclus’s shirt, sliding the flats of his palms up his back, tracing his fingertips through the divot of his spine. He purred into Patroclus’s neck, cheek resting on his warm shoulder. “I love you too much,” he whispered.

“I know,” came Patroclus’s reply.

* * *

Saying goodbye was the hardest thing for Achilles. Sure, it was hard to watch his boyfriend pack up in the days leading up to his departure, knowing that soon their shared off-campus apartment would be left empty—for what was his home except Patroclus? It was hard knowing that he would be with Patroclus for something that felt like an eternity, yet in actuality was only about three months, and it was hard dealing with the outdated communication system that Patroclus’s remote destination necessitated—no wifi or cell tower, so they were restricted to letters and Patroclus’s occasional landline phone call—but saying goodbye was the worst.

Most people hated doctor’s offices, or dentists, or even funeral homes, but Achilles hated airports. To be fair, it was something of a love-hate relationship, because while airports were the place where Achilles had to say goodbye to Patroclus once a year, they were also the place where he got to say hello to him in person again on return. Airports in general were just confusing places filled with too many noises, and machines, and people crowding into your personal space. At least Patroclus seemed relaxed.

“Are you nervous?” Achilles asked. He obviously was, bouncing his legs and twirling strands of his hair around his fingers repeatedly, and he wasn’t even the one about to get on a plane.

“I mean, a little I guess,” Patroclus admitted, taking Achilles’s left hand and lacing their fingers together. “I am about to take flight in a metal tube filled with over a hundred people and fly across the country at which point our pilot will slow us down from our 500 to 600 mile per hour cruise to bring us to a mostly comfortable landing on a short strip of tarmac—none of which seems like it should work, yet it does. You could say I’m a little nervous.”

Achilles looked taken back by Patroclus’s answer. “That sounds…horrible.” He had flown on several occasions, all of which Patroclus had been with him for and been sure to keep him talking or engaged in some way so as to keep him from thinking about the possibility of a tragic ending for both of them. With Patroclus taking flight and Achilles staying in the city, all he would likely spend the next several days thinking about was the possibility of hearing about an airplane crash on the news. Until he got his first letter from Patroclus, and then things would be better.

“It’s safer than driving,” Patroclus responded, trying to sound reassuring. “I’ll be fine, I always am.”

Achilles nodded uncertainly.

A message came over the intercom that Patroclus’s flight way ready to start boarding passengers. Achilles reluctantly rose from his seat, trying to prepare himself for the actual goodbye. Patroclus kept hold of his hand and rose with him.

“That’s me.”

“That’s you,” Achilles nodded once.

Patroclus wrapped his arms around Achilles’s neck, drawing their chests together. He could feel Achilles heart beating rapidly, and stroked his fingers through Achilles’s soft hair. “I love you,” he murmured softly, pressing his lips gently against Achilles’s, his warm brown lips in contrast with the pink of his boyfriend’s.

The kiss started softly, but rapidly became more desperate. Achilles’s arms twisted around Patroclus’s waist like he was searching for some way to hold onto his forever. His breath came hot and fast, his pulse even faster. The embrace was crushing. Finally, Patroclus buried his face into Achilles neck, kissing the rapid pace of his blood in his veins, trying to cool him off, and squeezed him tightly.

“Come back to me,” Achilles pleaded, making it sound like Patroclus was heading out to a much scarier fate than some troubled boys at an overnight camp.

“I will,” Patroclus said, his voice muffled in Achilles’s hair. “I will.”

“I love you.” When Achilles said it, it sounded like a confession. The phrase came out of him like a secret that had bubbled over, a secret that he treasured.

Patroclus smiled into Achilles’s neck. Attempting to pull away from the embrace—much against Achilles wish that they should stay like this until Patroclus’s flight left and he decided not to go to Texas—Patroclus kissed Achilles gently on the cheek. “I have to go,” he said softly, remorsefully. “Achilles, I have to go, I’ll miss my flight.”

“I’ll miss you,” Achilles replied.

Patroclus gave him one more kiss, letting the taste of his mouth linger on Achilles’s tongue. “And I’ll miss you. I’ll be back before you know it.”

The intercom called for Patroclus’s flight once again. Patroclus craned his head to look at the digital clock with departure times. “I have to go,” he said again.

Achilles loosened his grip on Patroclus, allowing his to step out of the embrace and pick up his carry-on bag, turning to walk to the gate. He clenched his jaw, dreading the words he was about to say. “Goodbye. I’ll be here.”

Patroclus did his best to attempt a smile over his shoulder at Achilles, already walking in the other direction against every impulse in his body that was screaming to return to Achilles’s embrace. He was doing a bad job of covering up his grief, unlike Achilles who wasn’t trying at all. “Goodbye. I’ll be back.”

With that he turned his back on Achilles and disappeared into the sea of people milling about, some searching for gates, some searching for bathrooms, others still searching for loved ones, or maybe something that they couldn’t yet place their finger on. 

Achilles stuffed his hands in pockets, his palms feeling unbearably empty, his whole body aching to be near Patroclus. He sat back down, not yet ready to leave and admit to himself that, yes, Patroclus has left. His cheeks were hot and flushed, his eyes watery and red, and there was a familiar constriction in his chest that reminded him why he hated this part so much. He felt like he was being stabbed in the throat with an icepick. 

Letting his head fall down, he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, wiping away what he knew were copious amounts of unshed tears. “Why is this so hard?” he whispered hoarsely to himself, sniffling. 

_“Because you love him,”_ a voice in the back of his mind responded instantly. _“And loving someone means giving yourself to them so fully that a part of you leaves with them. It’s like losing a limb, only it’s more than that—it’s losing a part of your heart.”_

“Fuck,” Achilles cursed under his breath, feeling the throbbing ache of loneliness in his chest.

Outside the airport, the sun came out from behind early morning clouds, remnants from last night overcast sky. Achilles hardly noticed, but someone else gazed out at the newly illuminated sky from the window seat of an airplane and made a silent wish that the next three months would go by quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter inspiration: Leaving on a Jet Plane - John Denver


	2. 81 Days - Oceans and Other Pleasures

It was over a week before Achilles received the first letter from Patroclus. He had considered sending a letter himself several days earlier, after days of repeated disappointment upon seeing no correspondence from Patroclus every time he went to the mailbox, but that would have simply resulted in their letters crossing paths and then each would have been confused about who should write back first and the whole thing would have been a headache. Besides, Patroclus always wrote first.

Still, Achilles wrote Patroclus every day that he was gone. A stack of paper scraps with notes scrawled on them was slowly growing on the dresser across from the bed, notes written on gum wrappers, lunch receipts, mail in rebate coupons—whatever Achilles had on him when he was struck with a thought to share with Patroclus. Normally, he would just send Patroclus a quick text, or turn to him and—with a smirk turning up the corners of his mouth—whisper it in his ear. This usually earned him a chuckle or musing in response or, if it was something particularly naughty, the pleasure of watching Patroclus’s cheeks fill with blood as he attempted to keep a grin from his face. In place of such instant gratification Achilles had to settle with scrawling notes to send to Patroclus in batches.

Achilles may not have had Patroclus’s skill in long form writing—nobody could write an excessively lengthy paper or talk you in circles like Patroclus—but Achilles did have the gift of words. He always knew the right words to use, so he never had to use as many.

Patroclus’s letter was more of a small manuscript, several notebook pages filled front and back with Patroclus’s slanted cursive, informing him of the goings-on of camp, the who’s who of boys this year, and a lot of notes about the beauty of Texas. And, of course, he talked about how much he missed Achilles, which only made the ache in Achilles’s chest grow stronger. Achilles read the letter several times through, smiling as he heard Patroclus’s voice come through the letter. Every small nuance of Patroclus’s speech could be found in this letter. Well, almost every nuance. Achilles could see Patroclus’s smile in his head, he could hear the gentle sound of Patroclus’s laugh, but he couldn’t feel the brush of Patroclus’s fingers against his arm, or the gentle way he would lean his body against Achilles and tease the hem of his shirt.

The hot breeze came in through the open apartment window, rustling the papers in Achilles’s hand and stirring the paper scraps beneath the paper weight on the dresser. Achilles looked out at across the tops of the other condo buildings, past the edge of the suburb and the golden crescent of the beach. The ocean sparkled in the sun, the weather was the same as ever—hot and sunny—and the air tasted faintly of salt mixed with exhaust. Nothing new or excited every happened when Patroclus was gone, or at least nothing that Achilles ever noticed. The same people came and went from their buildings at the same time. The same boats sped by, small colored triangles on the semi-distant ocean. The same breeze blew in off the water, or off the city into the ocean. 

Achilles didn’t know how to start his response to Patroclus. He could say so many things, but it felt like Patroclus already knew all of them. Achilles peeled the backs of his sweaty thighs off the sticky hard wood kitchen chairs and went to pour himself another glass of iced tea. He sat down and read Patroclus’s letter again.

_Dearest,  
Have you really thought about how the ocean looks? Really thought about it, I mean. Not being near the ocean makes me think about it me, just like not being near you makes me think of you more. I think the ocean must look like acrylic paint on canvas, whipped paint spread with a palette knife on stretched fabric. Sometimes the sky at night out in the desert reminds me of the ocean, so vast and deep and seemingly unreal. The desert reminds me more of you every day, like how it turns the sky into the ocean so that I don’t forget what it looks like. Like how it makes me dream of you so I don’t forget what you look like._

_It’s a different kind of hot here than it is in Cali. There’s no salt in the air, but there is quite a lot of dust and it seems to be always blowing in one direction or another. I feel it has become my second skin, much like the salt air of the beach side always manages to reside in your hair. Only the dust is much less pleasant, it is still equally as charismatic and hesitant to leave, even after an ice-cold shower._

_The first handful of days here have been uneventful and very quiet. The desert is frighteningly quiet sometimes. The wind blows and the animals make their noises in the darkness of an unprotected night, but sometimes I think I only imagine the things I hear and I’m really just floating in the seclusion of this openness. I get so used to the steady noise of the city outskirts that I forget how to organize my thoughts when there isn’t a constant hum of white noise in the background of my mind—it’s a strange phenomenon._

_There is a boy here this week who reminds me of you when you were younger. He seems very reckless and outlandish—arrogant even—but you can tell that underneath he’s still just a boy, desperately seeking someone to talk to, just like we all were at some point. He’s also rather stubborn, and he seems to think that I’ll give up trying to get through to him if he ignores me. If only he knew of my level of obnoxious persistence as you do, I think he would not be so confident in himself as he is._

_There is a certain comfort to waking up alone in a poorly secured A-Frame tent and not knowing what is going to be of my day. There’s a controlled spontaneity to the whole thing that makes me feel perfectly lost, but also content in my own confusion as I am incapable of knowing anything else, safe in the labyrinth that beguiles me._

_I wish that you could see the sky here sometime. Not only does it look like the ocean, it holds more stars than the sea-side sky could ever contain. It is darker and yet also brighter than the night sky we know; emptier and yet more full at the same time. It reminds me of our late-night road trips to remote parking destination where our intention to star-gaze always inevitably turns to something else. I long for your presence in that way—and in all ways, and I scold myself because I do not want you to be hung up on me in the same way, as it is life shattering, but I also want you to be hung up in the same way. Fickle._

_I’m sorry it has taken me so long to write to you. You know how things are when you start working on something and it consumes all of your awareness. I tried to you earlier. I would get out my notebook and sit in front of it trying to consider what to say. Sometimes I feel like there’s nothing to say that you don’t already know. I feel like that a lot. So I would sit in front of my notebook for a good hour, just staring at the page, not thinking about writing, but about you reading my letter. The kinds of things you would want to hear about that you haven’t already heard about a million times before; like how cold the showers are, or how lumpy and questionable the cot mattresses feel._

_A lot of that time was spent staring at these formerly blank pages, until last night (in your case several nights previous), when I went out and looked at the sky instead. It was like an ivert of colors and it spoke to me about the ocean, and I swear I saw you in the stars and you were beautiful. As always. It’s good to be needed here, but I want to be needed elsewhere too. I miss you. Don’t miss me too much._

Achilles set the pages aside, now well crumpled from multiple readings, and rested his heels on the seat of the adjacent chair. The off-shore breeze swept through the room again, and he watched the distant water sparkle and spill over onto itself. Was space really deeper than the ocean? Was it more unknown? Achilles thought that neither were as deep as the vastness of looking into another person’s eyes and getting lost in the black hole off their soul. He grabbed a napkin off the table and scrawled that down. That seemed like a good place to start.

* * *

The heat of bodies beside each other was like an all-consuming fire that threatened delicious desolation of the body and mind. Achilles shivered, drawing Patroclus’s attention.  
“Are you all right?” His eyes were invisible in the darkness of the room, dimly lit only by the dying street lights in the distance of the city. Even so, they were warmth and sweetness, drowning and bitterness—vulnerably open.

Achilles groaned. “Hardly.”

Patroclus chuckled, knowing that he meant it only in jest.

“You’ve decimated me,” he continued, separating one of his limbs from his sticky torso.

“Have I?” A dark eyebrow raised in question.

“In more ways than one,” said Achilles, with a nod. “You bare yourself, and not just your human flesh, but your immortal soul too.”

“Are you saying I’m half god?”

Achilles smiled sheepishly, growing drowsy in the moments that followed the passion. “If anyone is to be half-god, it would certainly be you.”

“You flatter me.”

“You make it easy.”

Patroclus smiled softly, his cheeks warm and forehead calm, hair tousled with sweat. He rolled onto his side and gazed into Achilles’s eyes. “Achilles…” Patroclus’s soft voice amidst the dark hum of ceiling fans and passing cars made Achilles’s breath catch in his throat.

“Yes?” Achilles asked, suddenly wide awake, his heart hammering in his chest at the look of Patroclus’s soft, kind, lopsided face resting against the adjacent pillow.

“You smell like the ocean and sex—like a demi-god of the sea,” he said drowsily. “I love you.”

Achilles gaped at Patroclus. “Oh…oh…I love you too.” He reached across the bed and took Patroclus’s hand in his own. “More than the ocean, more than sex, more than anything. More than all the stars in the sky, more than all the space in the universe.”

Patroclus closed his eyes, letting a lazy smile spread across his lips, and Achilles couldn’t think of anything that he wanted so much in the world as to be right here, right now—forever and always.


	3. 70 Days - Late Night Letters and Insomnia

Patroclus received Achilles’s parcel a few days into fourth week out in the desert. You really couldn’t call it a letter, and it wasn’t quite yet a package, so Patroclus thought it seemed fitting to refer to it as a parcel. It was certainly more romantic. Mail arrived slowly and in batches to the remote boy’s camp. It usually arrived twice, maybe three times, a week, and so it either arrived in energetic spurts of large bundles, or else one was left with disappointing droughts of letter-less days.

The post office at camp was a small building a brief walk from the mess hall and the bustle of camp and doubled as the camp office. Staffed by one secretary/post master with a very dull schedule, one would think that the office would be a lot more orderly than it actually was. Instead, paper folders and files covered almost every inch of the floor, collecting layers of orange hued dust. Letters and packages overfilled small, beaten plastic crates that rested precariously on cheap metal chairs, and used coffee mugs were host to families of flies, their lives sure to be short lived, but glorious nonetheless as they feasted on donut crumbs.

Patroclus made the short trek to the office after all the boys had been settled into their bunks and were, for the most part, asleep. He enjoyed the general quiet that settled over the camp in the late evenings after people disappeared. Some of the other staff would have retreated to scheduled meetings to discuss the next day’s events, or to leisure meetings to play cards, so he was mostly alone—mostly. Small nocturnal animals scurried under dry shrubbery, just out of reach of Patroclus’s flashlight beam, but none bothered him.

Iris, the post-master-secretary, looked as bitter as ever as he approached, her face illuminated by the incandescent desk lamp as she read through one of her many terrible harlequin romance novels. She was probably feverishly fantasizing about divorcing her husband and running away with a rich to-do-well ranch owner who drove a Cadillac. 

Patroclus exhaled smoothly and set his jaw; she wasn’t going to be happy to see him, he’d been bothering her for the past week about whether any mail had come in for him.

She looked up when the dirty screen door creaked open, eyes glancing over the tops of her readers, slightly hopeful that her rich cowboy had come to sweep her away. “Oh,” she groaned slightly at the sight of Patroclus. “It’s you.”

“Were you expecting someone else?” he asked, trying to make polite conversation.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” she snapped. After a moment of silence where the overhead fluorescent buzzed ominously, she added, “No, I wasn’t expecting someone else. Just hoping.”

Patroclus cleared his throat. “Anyways, I was wondering if there’s any mail in f-“ 

An orange soft-sided mailer came flying at his face and he had to all but drop his flashlight on the ground in order to catch it on time. “Oh!”

“Now quit bothering me,” she tsked. “Besides, you don’t get paid to get mail you’re your boyfriend.”

Patroclus turned the package over in his hands, reading his name in Achilles’s fine hand writing. He smiled. “Yeah, okay,” he replied, only having half-listened to what was actually said to him. “Thanks.” He turned and let the screen door slam behind him, not having to look back to know that she had a scowl on her face.

Patroclus examined every piece of Achilles’s parcel with great detail upon returning to his tent. He dissected it, laying out the pieces of paper, folded gum wrappers, and partially stained napkins like it was a science experiment on his desk. Achilles’s had sent him some trinkets he had found on the beach along with a lengthy note about how he had visited the ocean and thought about what Patroclus’s had said about it. It included some vulnerable things about Patroclus’s eyes and soul that made him bite back a smile and blush slightly.

He craned his desk lamp closer to the surface of his desk in order to better read Achilles’s collected thoughts, and watched as the started to develop into a sort of mind-map before his eyes. Achilles’s had spent a lot of time thinking about space and souls and depth, he had visited the ocean, and one of their favorite Greek lunch spots. He had listed all the albums he had been listening to, and the different types of wind there was: the oceanic wind, the lonely wind, the bitter wind, the sweet wind, the living wind, etc.

Despite having to wake up equally as early the next morning, Patroclus had no desire to go to sleep, he wanted to write back to Achilles’s immediately and respond to every single one of his musings. But he didn’t. If he did, he would probably forget to say something from eventual fatigue, or he wouldn’t be able to talk about anything that had happened yet, and he wasn’t content to send Achilles’s collected days a response that took place in several hours—that wasn’t a fair trade. But he wouldn’t be sleeping.

Over a thousand miles away, Achilles wasn’t doing any sleeping either. He tossed and turned on the open bed, the sheets tangled around his legs. Despite the fans, and the breeze, and the open window, the air seemed too hot and too heavy. Achilles sat up on the edge of the bed, letting his feet slide across the hardwood floor. In the total stillness of the apartment, the small noises around him seemed deafening. The repetitive ticking of the wall clock that Patroclus insisted on having in the room, the gentle whooshing of the curtains being blown in the breeze, the rhythm of his own breathing. Everything was too loud.

The living room wasn’t any more conducive to rest, but since he wasn’t sleeping he figured that he should at least do something with his mind, maybe even trick himself into being tired. He picked up one of Patroclus’s novels from one of his past medical classes and flipped it open to a random page. It made no sense to Achilles whatsoever, regardless of whether it was covered in helpful foot notes and highlighting or not. Insomnia was no stranger to Achilles, although it was certainly no friend. It was much easier to deal with when Patroclus was around.

The kettle screamed and Achilles was jerked out of his stupor. He fetched himself of cup of chamomile tea and went back to doing his best to put himself to sleep. But the tea just made him have to pee, and the books just reminded him more of the fact that Patroclus wasn’t here to help him fall asleep. He closed his eyes and pictured Patroclus’s face; his warm skin, soft hair, bright smile, gentle eyes. It seemed he could smell the sweetness of Patroclus’s soft curls and feel the gentleness of his warm hand on Achilles’s cheek.

* * *

“Insomnia?” came a soft voice from the edge of the living room.

Achilles looked up from the trancelike stare he had on his cup of warm milk and rum—which never seemed to work as well as he told himself it did. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Patroclus yawned softly, padding over, wrapped in the light fleece blanket from the bed. “Well, maybe, but not on purpose. I think we just both sleep better together.” Achilles smiled in response.

“What time is it?” Patroclus asked, sitting down beside him on the couch, leaning against him and curling his legs up under him.

“Three-thirty, I think, or there about.”

“How long have you been awake?”

“Mmm,” Achilles mused, leaning his cheek against the top of Patroclus’s head. “Maybe two and half hours?”

“Did you get any sleep at all?” Patroclus sounded tired.

“…a bit,” Achilles attempted to sell his twenty minutes of partial unconsciousness as rest.

“So, that’s a no?”

Achilles chuckled softly. “Yeah, that’s a no.”

Patroclus purred hummed softly against Achilles’s shoulder. The clock in the bedroom ticked. Achilles stared down at his glass of milk.

“Come back to bed with me,” Patroclus’s voice interrupted Achilles’s thoughts. “I’ll help you fall asleep.”

Achilles relented to the insistence in Patroclus’s voice, finished his milk, and let himself be led back to the bedroom, crawling onto the mattress beside Patroclus.

Patroclus brought his warm hand to Achilles’s forehead, stroking it softly. He pressed his nose into Achilles’s cheek and softly hummed under his breath. 

Achilles shut his eyes and listened to the soft sound of Patroclus’s breathing, feeling the rhythm of his gentle fingers stroking his forehead and cheek. It became easier and easier to relax as his focus drifted farther away from his endless to-do list and settled solely on Patroclus’s presence beside him.

“Get some rest,” came a quiet whisper next to his ear. “Go to sleep, I’ll be right here.”

* * *

_Kinds of Wind Cataloged Over the Past Days_

_The Oceanic Wind: Salty, adventurous, easily induces slumber just like the lull of ocean waves against one feet induce peace and fatigue. Sometimes it comes off the ocean, sometime it winds through the city streets and you find yourself wondering why it smells like the sea when the sea is so far from where you are._

_The Lonely Wind: Finds a way to sneak into your apartment even when all the windows are shut because it just wants someone to be with, to talk to. If you're really quiet you can hear it whispering in your ear almost always, especially upon opening and closing doors. It will use any means it can find to breathe into your life. Best resisted, as it only reminds you of your own loneliness._

_The Bitter Wind: Tastes like raw herbs and burned garlic. Bites your skin and pulls your hair, but not seductively like a lover might. Consumes those easily susceptible to nostalgia._

_The Sweet Wind: Reminds you of everything you love that you forgot you loved, like the smell of fresh cut grass and a recent rain showers on parched soil. Gentle and soft, it feels like silk on your skin as it runs between your fingers and takes a hold of your hand, pulling you in toward the nearest bakery or coffee shop._

_The Living Wind: Readjusts your clothes for you, even though you never asked it to. Fixes your hair up to be a proper mess, as if you've just left bed or been in a close encounter with a loved one. As empowering as it is dangerous, throwing sticks at you to remind you how fragile you are but also how powerful._

_The Night Wind: An ocean of memories colliding in on you all at once, smother you in unseen dust, drowning you in a crushing embrace of too much thought and not enough sleep. Chase with a strong cup of herbal sedative, or the like._

_The Lovely Wind: Flutters the papers on the coffee table just right, and makes you think that someone else is in the room with you. Blows back the dust on good vinyl records and parts the curtains on beautiful sunsets. Always kisses your cheeks and stirs your tea for you before it leaves. Subtle, easily missed, and flitting. Usually blows in from the desert, on the backs of clouds of dust, saying "I'm coming home, I'm coming home, I'm coming home."_

_Are you coming home soon? The wind says you are._


	4. 59 Days - Coffee Dates and Other Therapies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is definitely NSFW.

As much as Achilles missed Patroclus, it wasn’t like he didn’t have anything to do without him around. In fact, he was plenty busy between summer class, athletics and working out, work, and keeping up with friends. And as much as Achilles tried to come across as a carefree thick-skinned surfer who was completely independent, he relied on support from his and Patroclus’ shared friend group.

In addition to their many shared interests—like the sea, good tea, annotated books, and late-night adventures, both outdoors and beneath the sheets, just to name a few—Achilles and Patroclus each had their own niche in their sea-side community. Patroclus had his friends from med school and his residency program who usually talked about things that Achilles couldn’t quite wrap his head around, like medical conditions that he couldn’t spell, let alone begin to even pronounce. And Achilles had a lot of connections through his athletic inclinations: Ajax, a long-time friend of Achilles and one of his Aikido partners; Automedon, who everyone just called Otto, and who shared Achilles’s love of speed, whether is me on land or on water; and Odysseyus who, despite being considerably older than Achilles, was one of his most dependable training partners and friends.

Then there was Briseis, whom Achilles and Patroclus both had a soft spot for. Briseis had found her way into their life when she volunteered as a participant for a study that Patroclus was involved in as an undergrad. An immigrant to the United States from Greece, Briseis had quickly been identified by Patrolcus as what Achilles like to call his “special type”—a kindred spirit passionate about caring for others, and filled with an insatiable desire for knowledge and conversation. Shortly after the study had run its course and there was no chance of a conflict of interest, Patroclus had hunted down her residence and, bearing additively good homemade cookies and muffins, invited himself over. Not that Briseis had minded at all; so it was the beginning of a friendship that developed into a familial love affair, and now Briseis was like a sister to Achilles and Patroclus.

Achilles had just gotten out of the shower after coming back from an early morning run with Odysseyus when his phone illuminated and nearly buzzed itself off the bathroom sink and into the toilet with a message from Briseis.

**Bri: morning! What are you doin today? Any room to squeak in tea time??**

Achilles smirked, toweling off his hair and pulling it back away from his face. He could read between the lines.

**Achilles: i miss him too. soup bowls & saucers at 10?**

**Bri: :’( but yeah! You buying? ;P**

**Achilles: Only if you bring me some new insomnia reading. i’m getting tired of medical books, and not in the right way**

**Bri: Deal! Cya then!**

* * *

“Here you are! Only the finest quality dry literature for your late-night reading pleasure,” Briseis intoned, as if she were a librarian for insomniacs.

Achilles looked up from aimlessly scrolling through his phone to be greeted by a warm smile and an open armed invitation for an embrace as Briseis placed a small stack of musty-looking early Roman literature on the table. Achilles returned her infectious smile and accepted her generous hug.

“So long and not long enough,” she murmured into Achilles’s shoulder, squeezing him tightly.

Achilles’s only sighed in response.

When Briseis finally released him from her grip, she shared a somber smile with him. “It’s really so different with him gone. I miss our weekly coffee dates and going to the market early in the mornings.”

Achilles nodded. “I know. It’s much quieter around the apartment.”

Briseis reached across the table and rubbed his arm just as her name was called out by a barista. She raised an eyebrow at Achilles.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that, I bought.”

* * *

Achilles spent the better part of the morning and afternoon exchanging conversation with Briseis on everything from menial topics, like weather, to troublesome topics, like Patroclus, and when he arrived back at the apartment after a brief detour to the grocery store his sneakers practically slipped themselves off his feet and his eyelids were heavy with fatigue.

_Good,_ Achilles thought, _maybe I’ll finally get some actual sleep tonight._

A joyful chiming jingle surprised him as he was in the middle of putting away groceries—a reminder that the laundry in the dryer had been sitting all day, chiming every fifteen minutes as it impatiently requested to be paid attention to and emptied. Or at least that’s what Achilles liked to think.

Pawing through a sea of t-shirts and boxers, a piece of clothing stuck out to Achilles. He tugged on the edge of the garment, pulling it to the top of the pile. A bolt of excitement traveled through him at the sight of it: one of Patroclus’s strappy lace pairs of underwear, likely having gotten caught up in one of Achilles’s shirts as it lay on the floor after Achilles had torn them off Patroclus in anticipation of what usually followed their appearance.

Achilles turned them over in his hands. An image of Patroclus, laid out on top of the bed, sunlight casting warm shadows in the dips of his hip creases and highlighting his lips drawn back in a seductive smile, flashed through Achilles’s mind. He felt himself growing hot, his breath hitching just at the thought of Patroclus and a pair of lacy undergarments, even more at the thought of Patroclus sans said lacy undergarments. He heard himself moaning softly.

He hadn’t give much thought to his own pleasure recently, mostly because he busied himself enough that he wouldn’t have much time to think about it—“pleasure” and “Patrolcus” were one in the same to Achilles.

Standing in the small laundry room with Patroclus’s lingerie—for lack of a better term—it suddenly dawned on Achilles that pleasuring himself seemed like a really good idea right about now. The growing throb in his groin seemed to agree, or perhaps it was that which was thinking for him. Either way, any other evening plans—of which Achilles had none to begin with—were completely cleared from his mind as the memory of the last time Patroclus pleasured Achilles filled every crevice of his functioning mental space.

Achilles slumped down against the dryer, fumbling with the fly of his pants as he forced down the front of his jeans to take himself in his hand. He let out another moan, tightening his grip on the soft lacy underwear in his other hand. _He could hear Patroclus moaning into the pillows, his smooth back arched up towards Achilles presenting him with a perfect perspective of his scantily clad rear as Achilles rubbed his growing erection against it._ Even if this was just a fantasy, it was the best pleasure Achilles had felt in over a month and he felt himself grow needy and impatient.

Stroking himself rhythmically, Achilles closed his eyes and let the vision of Patroclus play itself out in his head. He ran his thumb over the head of his member, letting out a hiss of pleasure as his imagination responded with a flick of Patroclus’s tonight over the very same spot.

He wanted the heat of Patroclus’s mouth wrapped around him, pressing against him, making him forget his name as he choked on words. He could feel his fingers running through the thick brown curls on Patroclus’s head, see those warms eyes slanting up at him from beneath dense lashes amidst the shine of Patroclus’s lips as he worked his mouth up and down Achilles’s erection.

Achilles’s let out another groan, much louder this time, trailing off into a soft whine. In his one hand, he clutched Patroclus’s panties, running his fingers over them; remembering the feeling of pulling them down of Patroclus’s hips to slowly reveal his upturned ass, exposing…

His lips formed an “O” into the air as his fantasy deviated from a blow job to more. Still he was pressing into heat, but this heat was different, it was tighter, warmer, and it made Achilles’s so much harder as he hastily pulled on his member. 

_Patroclus looked back over his shoulder. “What are you waiting for?” he asked softly._

_Achilles could barely hear his voice over the rush of blood pounding in his ears. He wondered how had any blood to send anywhere else in his body, especially with a rock-hard erection protruding from between his legs. His hands massaged the warm flesh of Patroclus’s ass, supple and blushing in the low light from the sun filtering through the windows._

_“I’m not sure. An invitation?” he said, jokingly._

_“Do I have to invite you inside like a vampire?” Patroclus smirked gently. He winked at Achilles, but not with his eyes. “Because I do.”_

_Achilles had to stop himself from pressing in too quickly as he carefully guided himself to Patroclus’s entrance. It felt like ages before his hips met Patroclus’s ass in flush contact, but when they did he tipped his head back and moaned._

_“OhmygodPatroclus,” he slurred, fingers digging into the flesh of Patroclus’s lower back._

_Patroclus moaned into the pillows, pushing back against Achilles, bearing down on him in a way that made Achille’s head spin as he tried to comprehend the sensation._

Achilles grit his teeth, his stomach tensing and clenching as the vision of Patroclus squeezed against him. He called out Patroclus’s name, pressing his head back and scrunching the lace undergarments up into a ball in his other fist. His toes curled as the most wonderful sensations rode over him, and he panted as he slowly blinked open his eyes and came down from the high and evaluated the present situation.

Shirts and shorts covered the floor, spilled from the laundry basket, dappled in the product of Achilles’s climax. Achilles groaned, pressing and heels of his palms into his eyes. Slowly, a smile creeped across his face, followed by the gentle bubbling of laughter, until Achilles found himself sitting on the floor of the laundry room, jeans half off, lace underwear still hanging from his fingers, honestly laughing like he hadn’t laughed in days.

Finally, he signed softly, smile still drawn across his face, and pulled up the waistband of his pants. His 24/7 to-do list started forming itself in his head once more. First on the list: laundry.


	5. 48 Days - Marriage and Other Nightmares

Patroclus woke with a start in the middle of the night, clutching his hand to his night shirt, covered in a sheen of lukewarm sweat that made him stick to the creaky mattress pad in a way that was unsavory at best. He couldn’t remember the dream that hade woke him from an otherwise uneventful sleep—not that it mattered at this point; his heart was racing and the odds of getting back to sleep were slim. He swung his legs over the edge of the mattress pad, using the tacky bed sheet to wipe the sheen of perspiration from his legs, and slipped out of his damp shirt in exchange for a dry one.

In the bed across from Patroclus, just a few paces distance in the small A-Frame tent, one of the other councilors let out a loud snore, rolling over and turning their back to Patroclus. Patroclus tried to make as little noise as possible—and the mattress pad did its best to make as much noise as possible—as he fished around under his pillow for Achilles’ most recent letter. The other councilor—Dionysus—let out another loud snore as Patroclus opened the envelope. It took him several minutes of rather loud crinkling to extract Achilles’ most recent package of memos, at which point he figured that if Dionysus wasn’t waking he was probably too drunk anyways.

Patroclus went to sit at his cramped, and rapidly over flowing, desk. He clicked on the lamp and swatted away the moths that fluttered to be near the sudden light in the small space. Unfolding the letter and tucking away the small paper scraps that Achilles had sent along with it, Patroclus began reading again, for the fourth or fifth time this week, about Achilles’ experience in the laundry room. Even after several years together the thought of Achilles taking pleasure in a fantasy regarding Patroclus still made him blush, and he couldn’t help but bite his lip and feel hot upon reading the blunt way in which Achilles had written, “I think about you when I touch myself, and it makes me want you even more.”  
Folding up the letter once more, Patroclus pulled another piece of paper out of the envelope. Achilles had sent him a beautiful piece of Jasmine yellow colored paper that was as soft as satin and as light as a breeze for Patroclus to write him back on. Its texture was creamy beneath his fingertips as he smoothed out the page and selected a pen to begin writing. He wrote about the sudden disturbance of his sleep and the increase in sleep deprivation—this cycle’s “campers” were quite a handful. 

He doodled a couple of sketches of his sleeping tent mate, drool dripping from his mouth and onto his pillow, on the back of the page and then tucked a few novelties he had found around camp inside: the official wax seal off a piece of discarded camp mail, a monochrome feather from a passing bird of prey, the dried petals from a flower arrangement in the main office, and a clipping from a local newspaper that Patroclus thought would be of particular interest to Achilles. 

He thought about pleasing himself for a short period of time in that rationalizing stage between asleep and awake that one find themselves in at early hours in the morning, but that would only make him more awake, and God only knows what kind of irritable pathogens and plants his hands might have come in contact with recently.

He threw a fresh sheet over the top of his mattress pad and resigned himself to laying down on it, staring up at the canvas overhead, listening to Dionysus snore. Patroclus closed his eyes and tried to think of something relaxing to soothe him back to sleep, but the only image that entered his mind was Achilles’ flushed face and bare body. He blushed and rolled onto his side, cushioning his head with his arm. What a wicked thing longing could be.

* * *

“Do you ever think about me when you finger yourself?”

“Achilles!” Patroclus practically hollered, smacking his chest with the flat of his palm. “What kind of question is that to ask someone first thing in the morning?”

Achilles nearly rolled off the bed laughing at him. “What? I had a dream about it and it made me curious. Do you?”

Patroclus harrumphed playfully. “Do you?” he mimed back.

“Oh, sure, all the time,” Achilles replied matter-of-factly.

Patroclus rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Achilles persisted. 

The dark-haired boy rolled over in bed, turning his bare back to Achilles, playfully ignoring him.

“Oh, come on!” Achilles whined. He brought his lips up to Patroclus’ shoulder, placing a kiss there. “What do you have to be shy about?” He wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him onto his back.

Patroclus stifled a fit of laughter as Achilles’ fingers tickled playfully across his stomach and his mouth peppered Patroclus’ neck with kisses. Patroclus tangled his fingers in Achilles’ hair, tugging at it as he tried to pry the blonde leech off his throat. 

“Okay! Okay!” he relented, laughing. “Enough!”

Achilles had a broad grin stretched across his face. “So, do you?”

“Of course I do, what else would I think about?” A soft smile settled across Patroclus’ lips as he shared a gaze with Achilles, each knowing exactly what the other was thinking, feeling, wanting, needing.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

“Don’t try to bribe me now, Achilles. Whatever it is you want or you’ve done, just fess up already,” Patroclus said, crossing his arms and doing his best to look annoyed—which he was not in the slightest.

“No bribe.”

“What then?”

“It’s just that you seem to grow more strikingly gorgeous and radiant with each passing day,” Achilles murmured, petting back the dark-haired boys’ thick locks.   
Patroclus closed his heavily lashed eyes, turning his head into Achilles’ had and letting out a soft sigh. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The early morning sun poured through the window and across the bed like a river of liquid gold. It amplified the warmth of Patroclus’ skin and brought of the palest blonde highlights in Achilles’ flaxen hair. Neither had to tell the other how beautiful they were, they both already knew it and felt safe in the assurance that each of them loved each other in a way that didn’t need to be put into words. Not that the fact stopped them from trying.

“Do you ever think about marriage?” Patroclus asked softly, eyes still shut.

Achilles leaned back on his elbow, propping himself up. “Do you want to get married?”

Patroclus opened his eyes and looked up at Achilles. “I love you, Achilles. I already think we’re married. I could never love anyone else as much as I love you. You know that.”  
“Yeah,” Achilles whispered tenderly. He met Patroclus’ lips with his own and their faces lingered together, Patroclus’ hand coming to the back of Achilles’ neck, stroking his nape beneath his hair, and Achilles’ hand wrapped around Patroclus’ torso and pulling them closer together. 

Achilles rested his head beside Patroclus’, his lips nearly brushing against the dark-haired boys’ ear. “You’re precious to me, much like a authors’ best work is precious to them. You are everything that is good about me and everything that is good about life. You’re the very center of my universe and also all the constellations that sparkle like diamonds in the sky around me.” Achilles kissed Patroclus’ jaw.

“I think about marrying you every day. I play the scene over in my head, and every time it’s different,” Achilles continued to murmur in Patroclus’ ear, much to his enjoyment. “Sometimes we get married in the kitchen, while we’re making breakfast. And you’ll come out of the bedroom in an oversized nightshirt with your hair a mess and smile at me from across the apartment and then we’re married. Other times we get married on the bus back from Coronado when you gently slide your fingers between mine and make me feel like we’re the only people who exist in the world.”

“I marry you every morning when I kiss you before you leave and every evening when I hold you when you get home, and every other time that we’re not together and I’m still thinking of you, I marry you.”

Patroclus rolled over to face Achilles. “It sounds like you think about it a lot and also never at all.”

“That’s exactly what I do. It’s impossible to love you and not also be married to you, Patroclus,” Achilles said softly, smiling.

“I’m glad you’re capable of having serious and mature conversations shortly after admitting to having a sex dream,” Patroclus jabbed.

That made Achilles laugh. “What is love is not zero to 60 and then back again?”

“Indeed,” Patroclus replied, smiling.

* * *

Lying awake on his mattress pad, Patroclus was doing a lot of thinking about marriage. It was a strange concept really, to promise your whole life unequivocally to one person and bind yourself to them in a bond meant to be unbreakable. At the same time, it felt like nothing at all to think about being married to Achilles because he already felt so strongly that he was.

Not everybody needed a fancy ring and a $40,000 wedding to be married, all some people needed was a smile and a kiss; a letter and a “I’ve been thinking of you”; a bus ride and a breakfast. Still, there was some weight in the permanence of a ring and a vow that couldn’t be ignored. The idea that you not only wear your love in your heart and on you mind, but on your finger in a never-ending circle and on paper in a legally binding commitment.

Maybe there was some merit to actual court-house-piece-of-paper marriage after all. And then again maybe smiles and bus rides and breakfasts were enough.


	6. 37 Days - Fear and other Metaphysical Ailments

The soothing Jasmine-yellow color of the paper that Patroclus wrote his letter on did nothing to ease Achilles’ anxious mind as he read about his boyfriends nightly wakings. Despite the fact that Patroclus was the camp orderly and in charge of keeping tabs on everyone’s health, it was likely that—per usual—he was letting his own health go. In the absence of Achilles’ constant nagging about sleeping enough and drinking water, Patroclus seemed to think that as long as he wasn’t dead, things would be fine.

Achilles set the letter aside and cracked his knuckles in a rhythmic, anxious pattern. In the past, Patroclus had gotten himself into pretty big trouble by ignoring his own health, and that was with Achilles by his side, prodding and nagging him to take care of himself. 

Achilles rummaged around in the bedroom desk drawers until he found the stationary supplies he had hastily stuffed away when Ajax and some of his other rambunctious friends had shown up unannounced for a surprise dinner party. Smoothing out the creases in the folded paper, Achilles sat down at the desk and start writing. 

_Patroclus—My Love,_

_Please take care of yourself. It worries me to think that you might be ill or ailing, and it worries me even more that I’m not there to remind you that your health needs your attention. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you about your “stomach ache,” from just a few years ago._

* * *

Doctors--or in this case med students--rarely make good patients, and Patroclus was no different. At the first signs of discomfort, he had brushed off Achilles’ insistence that he should visit a doctor, saying that he was surrounded by doctors in class and at his residency. It’s just a little stomach ache, he had said. But he winced as he said it, and Achilles could tell it was more than a little stomach ache.

Doctors are also terrible at being honest about their pain. They know how many patients get seen every day, and would never want to be an additional burden. That’s how stomach cramps that are actually an eight out of ten on the pain scale get reported as a “mild five,” and how appendicitis gets overlooked as “just a little stomach ache.” That’s how med students end up passing out on the way to class from a persistent sharp stabbing pain in their abdomen.

“I told you it was more than a stomach ache,” Achilles said, scolding. Patroclus was constantly selling himself short in terms of his physical health, especially when he had so many obligations because of school and residency.

“I’m...fine,” Patroclus grunted between labored breaths on a medical bed in the ER. “Just some...mild...food poisoning or...inflammation.”

“You know, for a wannabe doctor you’re not very good at diagnosing ailments. I did a quick Google search the other night based on your symptoms the other night. Want to know what the number one result was?” Achilles pulled his chair closer to the side of the bed.

“You shouldn’t...Google...your symptoms,” Patroclus grunted stubbornly.

“Ah, yes, your favorite quote,” Achilles teased gently. “Because an internet diagnosis is no replacement for a doctor’s diagnosis. Ironic considering you refused to see a doctor.”

Patroclus shot Achilles a frustrated glare. Achilles shrugged, tossing his gold hair over his shoulder and out of his face.

“Guess the number one result,” he said again.

Patroclus groaned, his hand clutching his side, eyes squeezed shut as he breathed through the discomfort. “...Appendicitis...”

Achilles nodded. “Appendicitis; which is not a condition that magically fixes itself with a few doses of Ibuprofen and tea.” He sighs. “If you knew, why wouldn’t you see a doctor? You must know how serious appendicitis is. You probably need surgery, Patroclus.”

Patroclus sucked in a deep breath, letting it out shakily through his nose. “I guess...I kinda hoped...that it wasn’t...actually...my appendix.”

Achilles rubbed his face with his hands. “This isn’t the first time you’ve done this.”

“Done...what?”

“Endangered your health because you didn’t want to admit how sick you were.”

Patroclus turned his face away from Achilles. The drone of machines and beeping heart rate monitors filled the sterile silence.

“Remember when you had bronchitis? But you said it was just a cough? Or how about the time you had strep for three weeks, but were convinced it was only a sore throat?” Achilles asked, accusingly. “It’s dangerous.”

“I remember...” Patroclus admitted reluctantly.

Achilles leaned his cheek against Patroclus arm. “You’re brilliant…but sometimes you can be so stupid.”

Patroclus laughed, immediately gritting his teeth and grabbing his side. “Ow, ow, bad…idea.” He smiled at Achilles. “You’re right. I’ll…be smarter…next time.”

Achilles rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but smile either. Patroclus’ happiness was infectious.

When the doctor finally returned, she brought with her the diagnosis of acute appendicitis that would require an immediate appendectomy in order to ensure that Patroclus could return to work and school as soon as possible, and to protect his other internal organs from obtaining any harm due to his inflamed appendix.

Patroclus took what Achilles considered to be dreadful news in stride, promising him that the medical bills would be manageable because of the insurance he had from his work at the hospital, and patting his hand reassuringly as the rolled him off to be prepped and subsequently cut open.

Achilles was not quite as relaxed and sweat out the surgery in the hospital waiting room, even though Patroclus had told him that he could go home. “They’ll let you know when the surgery is done and then you can come back. I’ll have to recuperate anyways,” Patroclus had said. But Achilles was nothing if not stubborn, and he refused to leave, even as the gagging of hospital patients getting cultured for strep and the fluorescents reflecting off the yellow-but-formerly-white floor made him feel sick to his stomach.

It felt like an unbearably long time, but before long Patroclus was out of surgery, awake, and conversing with Achilles in seemingly high spirits. Arrangements were made for Achilles to spend the night in Patroclus’ hospital room the two days he would be in recovery in the hospital. Time seemed to pass faster in the confines of the sterile hospital environment, and before Achilles could blink or stress about anything they were back in their apartment.

“Maybe I can go back to school in a little sooner than a week,” Patroclus mused to no one in particular when they had finally gotten back home from the hospital. He was propped up on the couch, comfortable reclined and paging through a stack of homework that his classmates had collected for him. He thumbed through an impressive stack of notes from his various classes.

“No,” Achilles said from the kitchen, flat out denying Patroclus any bargaining with himself. “Absolutely not. The doctor said you need at least a week at home, staying relaxed and mostly reclined to keep things from getting infected or inflamed or worse.”

Achilles could see the frustration and stress written on Patroclus’ brow. Time out of school meant time away from residency and Patroclus’ job, which meant less money which meant funds were tighter. It also meant that Patroclus would have to work twice as hard when he went back in order to maintain his good standing academically and keep all his scholarships and positions. He rested his hands on Patroclus’ should, massaging them gently.

“I know you’re worried, but things will be okay; you said so yourself, remember?” he said softly, kneading his thumbs in slow circles at the base of Patroclus’neck.

“Yeah…yeah, I know. It could be worse.” He nodded his head.

The following week was filled with a lot less R&R than Patroclus had been prescribed. He did homework most of the day and sent lots of emails out to ensure that his situation was well understood by his professors and employers, and when he wasn’t busy doing something related to one of his many responsibilities he usually napped or had Achilles help in getting into a warm bath to soak. 

Even over the course of such a short period of time, a different side of Patroclus began to emerge. He was laconic and uninspired by the lack of socialization and purpose in his day to day life. Weighed down by the burden of assignments and obligations, but not enriched by lectures, discussions, or interaction with patients. Achilles did his best to keep him comfortable and entertained, but as the end of the week rolled around he knew that Patroclus wouldn’t take no for an answer and would be going back to school and work whether Achilles liked it or not. 

In part he was relieved, because he knew that Patroclus’ energy and happiness would return as soon as he went back, but he was also somewhat jealous of the fact that he alone didn’t seem to inspire that level of energy and joy in Patroclus. He tried to hide his disdain and frustration, but as much as he thought his feelings were invisible, Patroclus knew otherwise.

* * *

Patroclus shook his head, but smirked upon reading Achilles’ letter. While he might have been the one in training to become a doctor, Achilles was much better at looking after the people he loved. Patroclus’ exposure to illness and medicine seemed to make him insensitive to his own health, it was true, and Achilles did not share in the same desensitization; he was always concerned for Patroclus’ sake, always making sure he was going to be okay.

Patroclus pulled out a small yellow memo pad to write down a sudden thought for Achilles.

_“Do you remember what you said when I asked you why you were always so concerned about my health? I thought it was funny since I’m actually the one who plans on being a doctor, and you couldn’t want to be farther from the medical field. But you took my joking question very seriously and said to me, ‘I don’t ever want to lose you. It would be the worst thing in the world for me to lose you.’ I asked you why and you said, ‘I’m afraid if I lose you that I’ll never be able to find you again.’_

_I’m afraid of that too. I am very afraid of that, in fact, it might be the only thing I’m actually afraid about at all, because the thought of living or not living without you is terrifying.”_

And in that moment Patroclus was terrified. How could he ever convey to Achilles how much he cared? There weren’t enough words to be written or said, there weren’t enough gifts to be purchased and given, there wasn’t even enough time in a life, but there was enough knowledge in a shared gaze, and that was the one thing that Patroclus couldn’t give Achilles, and so he wrote instead: “Look up at the moon and think of me, and know that I am looking at it to, and thinking about looking at you.”


	7. 26 Days - Last Words and Other Reassurances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the fact that I am starting up college again in just under a week, I'll be going on hiatus for a bit. This will be the last update for a while, but I'm hoping to wrap up the fic in the next chapter which I am planning to write and post during one of my holiday breaks--so likely within the next three months at some point. I apologize for not being more specific, and I want to thank all of you who have read this, left kudos, or left comments. I am so glad you are enjoying it and I love to hear your thoughts! Let me know what you'd like to see next after this fic wraps up--I need some inspiration for my next project!

**Achilles: hey Odysseus…gotta take a rain check on our morning run. I’m waiting for a phone call from Pat today.**

It sounded like a lame excuse immediately after he sent it, and Achilles cringed re-reading it, but it wasn’t an excuse at all—he really was waiting for a call from Patroclus. 

**Ody: No problem! Say hi to the boy for me! I’ll catch you tomorrow…**

Achilles smirked. It wasn’t often that Patroclus got the chance to call Achilles. He had scheduled a few times that he told Achilles he would try to get a hold of a phone, but sometimes things came up and he wasn’t able to give Achilles a call when he said he would. Two such occasions had passed where Achilles had cleared his calendar—and subsequently cleaned the apartment—to wait on a call from Patroclus only to never get one. It wasn’t something that Achilles held against Patroclus, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed when he finally laid down to go to bed still waiting to hear Patroclus’ voice.

Achilles hoped that today would be different. He hoped he wouldn’t wait hours for the phone to ring only to be left with silence and a building feeling of loneliness. Already Achilles was hyper-aware of the empty space in the bed next to him, the coolness of the sheets, and the dense silence that tended to hang over the apartment nearly all the time when Patroclus wasn’t around. Still, he mentally prepared himself for the disappointment.

And then the phone rang.

Achilles sprung up in bed, prompting his phone to go flying off the bed, skittering across the floor to hide amongst piles of clothes that he had neglected to pick up over the weeks. He tumbled out from beneath the sheets, shucking shirts and pants aside to find the glowing, vibrating package of excitement. The number was familiar but lacked caller ID. Achilles grinned broadly, suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of pure excitement and adrenaline. 

“Hello?” he heard himself answer energetically.

A voice crackled to life on the other end of the line, it sounded garbled and fuzzy at first, but as the other caller repeated themselves it came in crystal clear. “Achilles? Hello?”

“Patroclus! Patroclus! Hi, hi! How are you? I miss you!” Achilles let out a laugh, laying down on top of the piles of clothes and distress pillows and bed sheets on the floor.

Patroclus laughed back and Achilles could practically see his face lighting up with a smile through the phone. “Yeah, it’s me, hi…take it easy,” he laughed again, “I’ve got some time to talk today.”

Achilles didn’t know what to say, there were so many thoughts flying through his head, but he couldn’t get over the fact that he was hearing Patroclus’ voice for the first time in months. “I miss you so much…please tell me you’re coming home soon. I love you…I miss you.”

“I know, I know,” Patroclus said, much quieter than before. “Don’t make me cry, Achilles, it’s too early for that,” he joked, teasing only slightly. “I love you too, and I love all your letters and notes and things that you’ve sent me and I think about you all the time. I’ll be home in less than a month. And I miss you too.”

Achilles couldn’t help the smile that persisted to spread across his face, making his cheeks throb. “I love you.”

“I know you love me, Achilles,” Patroclus giggled. “I love you too. What have you been doing? Tell me about the weather. God, I miss the ocean,” he said, sounding distant and reminiscent. 

Achilles’ one-track mind attached on to Patroclus’ last phrase. “The ocean misses you too,” he said, smiling, which made Patroclus laugh again. “No, it’s true. Nobody appreciates the beauty of oceanic sunsets and peaceful ocean breezes like you do. I tried to go see a sunset with Bri, but she didn’t have anything to say at all—she was so quiet, which was odd. I even tried talking to her about the sea birds who came to see the sunset, and she didn’t get it.”

Patroclus wound the phone cord around his finger, grinning and biting his lip. “You’re adorable. I miss the birds, I miss Bri.”

“She misses you too…and so does Odysseus.”

“Ha! I’m sure he doesn’t,” Patroclus retorted. “He’s always on me about making you late for your morning runs.”

“It’s not your fault that you’re irresistible and make it really hard to get out of bed in the morning…but you’re probably right,” Achilles smiled.

“And how’s the weather?”

“It’s been very breezy.”

“So I heard in your letter.”

“Yeah…the ocean air reminds me of you. It gets all up in my mouth and hair and it tastes like your skin. It’s nice, but sometimes I hate it because it hurts to think that you’re not here,” Achilles admits.

Patroclus kicked aside a pile of old magazines to rest his already tired feet on the coffee table in the office. There were only a few phones on the premises, most in awkward locations, like crammed into the back of the kitchen in the dining quarters, or in the camp owners’ bedroom, but Patroclus had snatched up the landline in the camp office, which at this time of the season was completely empty and looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. 

“Ocean air sounds so lovely. It’s so incredibly dry here, everything gets covered with dust and dirt the minute after you wipe it down. I feel like I’m perpetual covered in a layer of grime, it’s like a second skin…and not a good one.”

Achilles chuckled, “I could think of a second skin you’d much rather have.”

“Ooooh, you’re so dirty,” he responded, but he laughed enjoying the teasing nature of Achilles’ voice and the visions that danced in his head of all the things he could not wait to do with Achilles when he returned. “What are you doing right now?”

“Laying on top of piles of dirty clothes on the floor because I fell out of bed scrambling for the phone and I’m too blissed out to go anywhere.”

“Were you expecting my call?”

“Anxiously, yes. I canceled my morning run and cleared out the rest of my calendar just like I usually do on a day you might call,” Achilles admitted.

“Ah, see, just another reason for Odysseus to despise me,” he jabbed.

“I think about you all the time,” Achilles interjected before Patroclus could add another jab at Odysseus.

Patroclus wiped his hand across his face. It didn’t matter how long he was with Achilles, how far away he was, or even where in the world, Achilles had the ability to draw all the air out of him with a handful of words in the right voice. “Is that so?” he said softly, trying not to sound too eager about hearing how his boyfriend spent his time daydreaming about their reunion.

“Everything here makes me think of you…just because I’m always with you when we go around out for coffee or a walk, or even just grocery shopping. I remember all the fun things we’ve done, things you’ve said to me…things you didn’t have to say,” Achilles said slowly, taking his time to tell Patroclus just how much he touched his life, even when he wasn’t around. “Your absence just makes your presence more prevalent in my life. You’re everywhere…you’re my whole world, my everything.”  
Patroclus should have been melting, but instead, he was suddenly overcome with a wave of anxiety. “Achilles…”

There was silence on the line as Achilles interpreted Patroclus’ concerned tone. 

“Achilles, are you still there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m still here. What is it?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Sometimes I worry that I put too much of a burden on you,” Patroclus said softly. “I love to hear you say you miss me, but is it really healthy to miss a person so much that you feel their absence as if it’s physical?”

“No, no, Patroclus, please,” Achilles started, reassuringly. “It’s okay because I always know I’ll see you again.”

“You don’t know, how can you? My plane could crash on the way back and then what?” Patroclus tugged on a lock of his hair anxiously. To his surprise, Achilles laughed on the other end of the line, a full-bodied laugh, not sarcastic in nature.

“Even if that did happen—which it won’t,” Achilles said when he had finally recovered, “I’d still see you again. If not in this life, then another, and if not in that life, I’m sure there will be more.”

Now Patroclus was silent, a small smile on his face as he felt the calm certainty of Achilles’ words sink in. “You’re right.”

“Listen, it doesn’t matter where you go or for how long you’re gone, as long as we’re _together_ I will wait for you and greet you with open arms when you return, and I know you’ll do the same for me,” came Achilles soothing voice across the line. “It’s not easy to be in love, but if it was, what would it be worth?”

“I love you,” Patroclus said again, for possibly the millionth time.

Achilles smiled and his grin carried through in his voice. “I love you too.”

A hasty rapping of knuckles came to the window of the main office, startling Patroclus. One of the fellow counselors, clearly looking to make a phone call with some privacy gave him a little head nod and tapped at his wrist impatiently. Patroclus nodded his head in response and held up one finger, wishing he could have four hours more of talking to Achilles.

“You gotta go?” Achilles asked, gathering from the sudden silence that Patroclus was occupied with something else.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “But I’ll write you soon and I’ll see you in less than a month…less than a month.” He sounded forlorn.

“And I’ll be here, waiting for you,” Achilles said with a small smile. The sound of Patroclus’ voice brought such joy to his heart. “If you ever doubt yourself know that I will always believe in you, in us,” he added.

“I believe you. I’ll count the days until I’ll see you again,” Patroclus said, somewhat painfully.

“Don’t cry, because if you cry I’m going to start crying and then we’ll never be able to get off this phone call,” Achilles laughs softly, hearing Patroclus sniffling on the other end. “I love you. Don’t miss me too much,” he teased.

“Okay…I love you…bye, Achilles.”

“I’ll think of you when I see the moon tonight, love,” Achilles said softly before ending the call, knowing that Patroclus would sit for hours on the phone listening to the silence of Achilles’ distant attention if given the chance.

A month was a long time to wait for what felt like the greatest thing in the world—what was the greatest thing in his world—but he had waited longer, and Patroclus’ return would be all the more worthwhile when it arrived.

“I’ll think of you when I see the moon tonight,” Achilles murmured softly to himself, staring up at the ceiling. He laced his fingers behind his head as a grin sneaking across his face, the most brilliant idea forming itself in his mind. Patroclus would be in for a big surprise when he returned, in more ways than he could have possibly imagined.


	8. 15 Days - Hanging Out With Dead People and Other Hobbies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's back! My college break wraps up in just a few days, but before I go back I wanted to wrap this fic up so that those of you who have been so consistent and supportive in reading and commenting on this fic aren't left hanging. This chapter is a little shorter than the rest because I'm also working on the final chapter at the same time, which will be the usual 2000ish word length. Expect that within the next several days. I'm looking forward to your feedback on the fic as a whole and any comments you might have that I can use for inspiration in the future!

To busy himself on the weekends when Patroclus was away—which were almost as hard as the nights—Achilles tried to go out and find something to do with friends. However, despite the fact that he loved his friends to death, something he just couldn’t bear to be with them without Patroclus, and even their presence was a more of a reminder to him of that large absence in his life. Absences where sometimes easier to deal with when you were surrounded by them, which is what brought Achilles inland to one of the national cemeteries just over two weeks before Patroclus’ return.

Surrounded by gravestones and mausoleums, Achilles felt an overwhelming sensation of aloneness. Not to be confused with loneliness, which he had felt as an aching in his chest pretty regularly since Patroclus’ departure, aloneness was a different sensation entirely. Walking quietly between rows of graves, the sun casting short shadows of the stones, Achilles was the only living human in the vicinity. Granted, there were a lot of dead humans buried only half a dozen feet or so beneath where his own feet left soft impressions on the ground, but a dead body hidden in the earth can hardly be considered a presence.

In the absence of life, dead bodies clustered together beneath the earth to create a presence that was ironically absent. Nonexistent spirits had their lives marked by carved stones that would someday weather and erode until their very existence would be wiped from the face of the earth as if they had never lived at all. For Achilles, there was some comfort in cemeteries and their reminder that nothing lasted forever. Patroclus wouldn’t be away forever, they probably wouldn’t live in California forever, and someday, they too would cease to be, having shared only a brief life to one day fade away from the consciousness of humanity.

While some people Achilles’ age, including some of his own friends who had lost loved ones, struggled with the concept of death, viewing it as unnatural or frightening, Achilles found peace in it. Death helped him cope with absence, absence being one of the hardest and most painful sensations to deal with because death promised an end to absence. The way Achilles saw it, something is only absent if you remember a time when it was present—like with Patroclus. The only reason Achilles’ chest ached so much was because he went to bed each night remembering the shape of the form that usually lay next to him, and knowing that it was missing. But in death, when one’s physical existence was no longer after centuries passed and one’s very being was not to be remembered by a single living soul, one transcended the concepts of absence and presence. 

What happened when you were no longer present, but also no longer absent, Achilles did not know, but the thought fascinated him. It was in this state of mind that he sat down near a pair of older gravestones ambiguously and affectionately labeled “Mother” and “Father.” It was unclear whose mother and father these stones—or rather the bodies buried beneath them—belonged to, but it didn’t matter to Achilles. They were someone’s parents and that was what counted.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” he asked.

The wind whispered softly across the expanse of gravestones, tossing the ends of Achilles’ hair.

“Mmm,” he muttered softly, more to himself than anyone else. The thought of Patroclus’ soon to be return in just over two weeks weighed on his mind, as did his plans upon his arrival. Achilles had been turning over an idea in his mind ever since his phone call with Patroclus. Sitting in this strange place of in-betweens, Achilles was in his own in-between. 

On the one hand, being apart from Patroclus made Achilles all the more certain that he never wanted to be apart from Patroclus ever again, that he couldn’t live his life without Patroclus in it. At the same time, distance and silence made Achilles question whether Patroclus felt the same way. In the times of silence Achilles fell victim to the same self-conscious doubt that most people in relationships do. He wondered if, despite Patroclus’ constant reassurance and affirmation of Achilles’ virtues, their relationship would have been stronger if he could change some of his vices.

“Do I think this is a good idea…that’s a better question,” he continued to speak to himself, grateful that no one was around to look at him like he had two heads. He sighed, closing his eyes and feeling the warmth of the sun on his face and the gentle touch of the occasional wind. He was too far inland to smell the salt air here, and everything smelled instead like a mixture of dry dirt, dryer dust, and the occasional whiff of a rich, watered lawn. The air was sadly lacking without the salt tinge. 

The longer Achilles sat there, on top of some unknown person or persons’ dead parents reflecting on the salt content of the air and the Patroclus content of his life the more those absences proved to be desirable necessities, no just random presences, in his life. 

He patted the stone next to him, looking at the carved, slightly worn letters spelling out the familial term. “You’ve been very helpful…this didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it would. Thanks, mother…father,” he acknowledged the presence of the absences of people that were no more, standing slowly and brushing himself off. “I’ll be back to see you soon. As soon as soon arrives.” 

Over a thousand miles away, Achilles was completely unaware that Patroclus was making a very similar decision in an empty tent. Turning an idea over and over in his head, and carrying another heart in his own.


	9. 0 Days - Returns, Renewals, and Rebirths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all of you who have spent time reading this fic! It means so much to me to know that there are people out there who appreciate my writing and love getting to know these characters more just like I do. Thank you for coming on this exploration with me!

Just as in previous nights, Achilles couldn’t sleep, only this time it was out of excitement instead of anxiety. After months of sleepless nights, Achilles was actually happy to find himself awake. It was like the night before Christmas, except it was the night before Patroclus and instead of sugar plums visions of Achilles’ boyfriends’ radiant, smiling face danced in his mind. Achilles let out a contented sigh, he almost relished this last night alone in bed. As soon as Patroclus came back Achilles would have very little alone time, especially in bed.

To save money, Patroclus had opted for the most direct flight as early in the morning as he could possibly get. Achilles glanced at his alarm clock. It was 3:37 am, one six minutes later than the last time he had glanced at the clock, hoping that he would blink and wake up ready to go pick up Patroclus. He anxiously checked his calendar for what had to be the twentieth time within the past two hours alone, making sure that he wouldn’t miss Patroclus’ arrival time. 9:35 am is what his reminder told him, and all the airline updates he was tracking hadn’t flagged any delays for Patroclus’ flight yet.

Achilles pressed the back of his head into his pillow, closing his eyes. In a matter of hours, Patroclus would be back and he would be able to take Patroclus’ hand in his own and shower him with kisses and never let him go ever again. Of course, Achilles was exaggerating to himself, but at nearly four in the morning when one is sleep deprived, everything seems realistic and at the same time completely mythical. Slowly, and then all at once, Achilles fell asleep, images of Patroclus’ face emblazoned in his mind.

* * *

Achilles wasn’t really sure how he got to the airport, it was all something of a blur. He remembered his alarm clock going off, and then not having time to take a shower, or at least he thought that was why his hair was a hot mess that looked like a raccoon nested in it. Somehow he had managed to make it into the city in a reasonable amount of time, traffic wasn’t horrible, but the whole time he was driving he was terribly distracted by thoughts of how close he was to seeing Patroclus. Now, he sat outside the gate where Patroclus’ flight was supposed to be de-boarding. His leg bounced anxiously up and down to the beat of some inaudible tempo as he glanced around, observing the other family members waiting to receive their loved ones with the same nervous anticipation that he was.

He sat there for what felt like forever, but what was probably only two dozen minutes or so before people started slowly streaming out of the gate. Achilles stood up and started pacing about and transferring his weight from foot to foot, looking for the top of Patroclus’ head and the bounce of his step. He felt like he was ready to jump out of his skin with anticipation. More and more families started to crowd the area and it became harder for him to see over their heads. Some passengers dressed in business attire walked around families huddled together. For them, it was just another flight, nothing special. For Achilles, it was the whole world and then some.

“Hey!” a familiar voice called out, drawing his attention. 

Even before Achilles spotted the face he could tell that it was grinning from ear to ear and practically beaming like the sun. His eyes scanned the crowd and spotted a slight brown-skinned boy pushing between two families, dragging a beat-up carry-on behind him as he reached out towards Achilles. Achilles face broke out into and smile so big that it hurt his cheeks. He forgot about all the hard nights, the stress, the anxiety, and the waiting. In that moment, nothing else seemed to matter. The whole world could have melted away and he wouldn’t even have cared because his whole world had just touched down in California again.

Achilles received Patroclus’ body into his arms, stepping back to gain his balance as Patroclus practically barreled into him. He felt everything at once, he was grinning and laughing and crying and pressing his cheek against Patroclus’ and holding him tighter and tighter.

Patroclus choked out a laugh. “Not so tight!” he chuckled. “I won’t slip away.”

Achilles kissed Patroclus’ neck, nuzzling his forehead into his shoulder. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, barely able to make his voice heard.

“Yeah…yeah…” was all that Patroclus could say in reply. “I know.”

Achilles pulled back enough to actually take in Patroclus’ face, taking it in his hands. He looked into Patroclus’ warm, joyfully eyes, the dark brown iris glinting with a golden tinge. He felt the overwhelming love that was held in those eyes and pressed his forehead to Patroclus’. He felt Patroclus’ warm hands on the back of his neck, brushing his mess of hair aside and he realized how much he missed the embrace of other people, specifically this person.

Patroclus relished in the warmth of Achilles’ presence. His gentle fingers caressed Patroclus’ face in the most delicate way and conveyed a sense of deep compassion. He inclined his chin, bringing his lips to meet Achilles’. They were soft and warm, and strangely human. Patroclus felt the warmth of Achilles’ breath and tried for as long as possible to hold on and not let go. He would have stood there for eternity wrapped in the embrace had it been possible, but people started to bustle around them, bumping into them, trying to get to and from their own destinations, and he was forced to pull back.

“Maybe we should go home,” Patroclus said softly, smiling.

“I would love that,” Achilles smiled in return. “I want nothing more than to do that.”

Achilles took his hand, interlacing their fingers, never taking his eyes off Patroclus’ face. “I have a surprise for you when we get there.”

“Oh?” Patroclus smiled. “I have a surprise for you too.”

* * *

To both of their surprise, the apartment was filled with people when they returned. Achilles' mouth gaped open as he opened the door, helping Patroclus bring in his luggage. “What…is…?”

Patroclus smiled, clapping his hands together in glee. “Ahhh, you organized a surprise party for me!”

Achilles turned to him and Patroclus read the confusion on his face.

“Oh…you didn’t?”

Achilles shook his head.

Bri’s head popped out of the kitchen space. “Oh! You guys are back earlier than I thought!” She turned to the collection of people snacking in the living room. “Hey! They’re back!”

Heads turned to settle on Patroclus and Achilles standing together in the doorway and a chorus of poorly organized exclamations of “surprise!” rang out. Among the faces where some of Patroclus’ classmates and colleagues, as well as mutual friends that he and Achilles shared, with Bri heading up the group.

“We thought you’d be out a little longer…we weren’t expecting you for another half hour or so!” Bri exclaimed, rushing over to hug Patroclus, who embraced her back and exchanged a kiss on the cheek with her. “But of course, I’m so happy to finally see you! We all are! Come in! Don’t just stand there! It is your flat! Oh, and I hope you’re not upset that I used my spare key to let all of these people in…we wanted to surprise you!” she said, talking ecstatically at a mile a minute. 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Achilles assured her. “We just…” he looked at Patroclus who looked like he was ready to break out laughing. “We’re definitely surprised,” he finished with a grin, placing his hand on the small of Patroclus’ back.

Patroclus nodded in agreement. “Are you making food? Something smells really good and I. Am. Starving.”

Bri nodded excitedly. “I just pulled some grilled bread out of the oven and I have all the fixings for some amazing sandwiches!” She took Patroclus’ hand. “Come on, make yourself a plate!”

Patroclus looked at his bags. “Well…I…”

“I’ll take care of these. I’ll just put them in the bedroom so they’re out of the way. We can unpack later,” Achilles urged him. Knowing that Patroclus didn’t want to be a burden.

Patroclus gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, love.”

* * *

“So how was your flight? How was the weather there? How was camp?” 

They had finally settled into the living room, everyone had full plates of food and full glasses of their poison of choice and Bri was firing questions at Patroclus with the ferocious speed of an auctioneer.

“Whoa, Bri! Give him some room to breathe!” Odysseus laughed. 

Patroclus smiled, wiping his mouth and taking a sip of his drink to wash down the bite of sandwich he was working on. “It’s okay, I’d love to answer all your questions. The flight was fine; I didn’t have to sit next to any crying babies. The weather was hot and dry, and camp was good, minus a few snake bite incidences that could have been completely avoided if kids had listened better.” He shrugged and took another bite of his sandwich.

Achilles smiled at him from the kitchen stool where he sat overlooking the whole scene. Watching all of their friends laughing and talking with one another, Achilles realized that he wasn’t the only one that needed Patroclus, they all needed him. He brought a certain life to things that weren’t there otherwise. When he was gone, music was just music, but when he was here it was like a soundtrack to the best movie ever, and they all noticed the difference.

“Hey, blondie,” Bri snapped her fingers to get Achilles’ attention.

“Oh…sorry, must have zenned out there for a minute.”

She smirked, “I figured as much. Pat was just telling me that he thought this whole surprise party thing was your idea since you told him that you had a surprise for home. I already gave him my surprise,” she gestured around to the party. “What’s yours?”

Achilles was a little out of things, being sleep deprived and high on the reality of Patroclus’ return, so he just nodded at first, not fully registering the question. It took a few seconds for it to catch up with him. “Oh! Wait…you mean like…right now?”

“Yeah! What is it?”

Now everyone in the room was looking to Achilles, which normally wouldn’t have been a problem, but considering the nature of the surprise, it made him very nervous.

“Assuming it’s a PG-13 surprise,” Odysseus said under his breath, loud enough that everyone in the room heard and joined in to laugh.

“It is…right?” Bri asked as a follow up when Achille didn’t’ respond at first.

“Of course!” he couldn’t help blushing a little as he said it. “You people are the worst, get your mind out of the gutter.”

Patroclus sat on the sofa, simply watching Achilles with rapt attention. “Do you want to exchange surprises now?” he asked softly.

Achilles looked into his eyes and saw the gentlest of gazes. “Do you?”

Patroclus shrugged. “Why not? It would probably make things easier in the long run anyways.”

Bri looked between them. “Wait…you both have surprises for each other?” She sat up straighter. “Oooh! Now I’m really excited!”

Achilles raised one of his eyebrows at Patroclus. “What…what do you mean?”

“I think I know what your surprise is, Achilles,” Patroclus said, getting up to sit on a stool next to him.

Hearing Patroclus say his name made Achilles melt a little bit. “Oh, really?”

Patroclus nodded. “Does it come in a box?”

Bri snorted, and Achilles nodded.

“Is it small?”

Again, another nod.

“And shiny?”

Achilles narrowed his eyes at Patroclus. “Yes. How do you know all of this?”

Patroclus smiled at him. “Because I think we have the same surprise for each other.”

“What is itttttttttt?” Bri groaned, growing impatient.

A smile crept across Achilles’ face. “Should I go first? Or do you want to?”

“I thought that we could both go…at the same time, taking turns,” Patroclus said softly. “Unless you had other plans in which case you do your thing,” he followed up quickly.

“No, I think that’s a great idea. Do you…will you start?” Achilles felt in his pocket to make sure his surprise was where he thought it was. The round edge of a box pressed against his fingers.

Patroclus nodded and cleared his throat. “Achilles…” he took Achilles’ hand in his. “I love you, so much, and being away from you only makes me more aware of that.”

“I thought about you every day while you were gone,” Achilles said quietly, trying to keep it together. “You complete everything, not just me. The room is fuller when you’re here, even when it’s empty, and the colors are brighter and the food tastes better.”

Patroclus laughed softly. “I agree, I think the stars look brighter when I look at them with you, and the moon is more beautiful when I share her with you. There’s no one that I’d rather do this difficult and yet amazing thing called life with.”

“The idea of doing life without you terrifies me. I don’t know what I would do without your thoughtful smile and messy hair,” Achilles replied.

Achilles and Patroclus were completely unaware that anyone else was in the room. Patroclus was the only one in Achilles’ universe, and Achilles was the only one in Patroclus’. They needed nothing else, just each other.

“I love you and I love everything about you. Even your flaws. Especially your flaws. They make you unique,” Achilles continued.

“I couldn’t say it better,” Patroclus said, practically beaming. “Which is why I want to ask you something.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small jewelry box, opening it to reveal a stunning silver band etched with stars and suns and moons and holding a single shimmer crescent of opalite. “Achilles, will you let me love you forever and ever and do me the honor or making me your everything?”

Achilles fumbled to pull out his own jewelry box, presenting Patroclus with an intricately woven silver band holding a cluster of three small pearls. “Only if you’ll make me your everything.”

Patroclus smiled wider than before, something Achilles didn’t think was possible. “You already are,” he exclaimed, kissing Achilles. “And you?”

“I would love nothing more,” Achilles replied, embracing Patroclus.

* * *

Time passed, and guests finally left the flat, Bri being the last. 

“You’ll promise to let me help you plan everything?” she asked for the hundredth time.

Patroclus laughed, arm wrapped securely around Achilles. “Yes, of course!”

She hugged them both before leaving. After everyone was finally gone, Patroclus and Achilles sank down onto the couch, surveying the damage around them. Paper plates were strewn across the floor, food sat out on the coffee table, but none of that mattered. 

“It can wait,” Achilles said, looking at Patroclus. “The whole world can wait.”

Patroclus smiled, leaning in to kiss his new fiancé. “I, for one, wholeheartedly agree.”


End file.
